now i'm getting a clearer image. there's a picnic basket feel to the poem that underlies what's to come. good edit.
(02-21-2013, 02:51 AM)Mark Wrote: Rev. #1 02-25-2013
Her heart pulsed with real, red blood. would this be even clearer as the 3rd line.
Cradled in her arms
swaddled in a pink cotton blanket,
a gift.
He pinched her on the ass and asked for a sandwich.
She was a breeze through an open door,
a cloud filled with wildflowers, why not just 'a cloud of wildflowers'
a mirror of her desires.
He thinks she is silly, but says nothing.
Years later the announcer will step in front of the playback
to explain every gory detail.
Today giggles are louder than doubts. much much better last line.
Quote:Original
Cradled in her arms and swaddled in a pink cotton blanket,
it pulsed with real, red blood.
He said it was cute and asked for a sandwich.
Blowing through the door attached to a delicate arm and filled to the brim
with wildflowers dangling, it was only a mirror of her wants.
He thinks she is silly, but says nothing.
It will be years before the announcer steps in front of the playback
to explain every gory detail. Today hope is strong.
(02-26-2013, 10:42 AM)Mark Wrote: Look I am really frustrated lately with my lack of skill and I'm sure that contributed, but take into consideration that some of us are scared shit-less when we post a poem of what you 'poetry gods' will say.listen, i'm in the same bag, most of us are, thet're are no poetry gods. it isn't about being great, it all about enjoying the poetry, the better your stuff the better you'll feel, it what feedback is all about.
All in all I apologize for allowing myself to react the way I did. No hard feelings?
